Unwise Bargains
by Jackmir
Summary: Many years ago, Sarah laid down her life to save her little brother. After a long, supernatural custody battle, her soul found rest in a kingdom that embraced her for everything she was. Unfortunately, not everyone was satisfied with how her saga ended. A sequel to "I owe you nothing."
1. Prologue - Linda

Linda Williams had been called many things over the years – some names less flattering than others. That she was a talented actress on stage and screen, no one denied. Whether or not she had any redeeming qualities had been up for debate since her first real debut in an independent film when she was twenty-seven. It had been a weird little film student bit of trash; an experimental version of Macbeth using a blend of contemporary and classic themes. Her performance was widely regarded as the only worthwhile part of the film.

Her performance during the screening party, when she had thrown a full glass of champagne into an overly zealous fan's face was likewise considered the most memorable part of the film's very limited release. Linda Williams, it was agreed, had the singular talent of making _pissed off_ look desirable as hell.

She was beautiful to begin with, but the paparazzi's cameras fell in love with the way her pink lips curled to the left in scorn whenever she was irritated. The way her soft ivory cheeks flushed a shade just barely darker than her lips whenever she was displeased – a frequent occurrence. The tabloid photos made love to her narrowed green eyes flashing in rage at an insufficiently glamourous venue for a new film.

She wasn't very tall – only about 5'4 in heels, but whenever she stalked into a room, she commanded attention. She would have been on the list of most desired bachelorettes, but there was one problem; Linda Williams was already married. Had been for almost nine years in fact. With a small child, no less.

At age nineteen, Linda Veltis had fallen for a Robert Williams, a man nearly ten years her senior. While later magazines would speculate that she married him for the financial stability he offered, the truth was much more boring and something Linda swore she would never admit after the divorce. She had loved Robert, had loved the home life they built together, and deeply adored their small daughter, Sarah.

Linda _did_ admit long after the divorce had settled, after Robert had remarried to the plainest, most boring slice of white bread he could find, that she had been too young for the life she tried to build with him. Too young for motherhood. She had had Sarah when she was twenty. She had seven years of motherhood before she really became successful. Seven short, blissful, little years.

And then Robert had divorced her and convinced the judge to grant him solo custody of the most beautiful thing she had ever created.

Linda stared into the mirror above her Italian marble sink. Imported high-end cosmetics and the occasional surgery had minimized the damage of years, but there was no hiding the fact that the face staring back at her was sixty-five years old. She still comported herself with stateliness, and she would always be a handsome woman, but she was old. And her daughter was dead.

She gripped the edges of her sink until her knuckles turned white. Her green eyes burned against the crystal mirror. Robert's son, Tobias had successfully wrested control of her baby's life from her and murdered her. Pulled her off of life support as easily as he might unplug his television. Then the little bastard had the gall to call _her_ selfish and uncaring.

With effort she released the sink and set about smoothing her dark hair. She had given up coloring the silver threads winding through the dark locks when she was fifty. Her fingers tightened painfully on the handle of the soft bristled brush as she dragged it across her scalp. Not in grief, but in fury. Damn him.

She pursed her lips and applied a lipstick custom designed to complement her skin tone. It had cost nearly four thousand dollars. Her fingers trembled and a thick smear of lipstick arced high above the bow of her upper lip. She barely resisted the urge to fling the expensive tube into the toilet. She laid it down carefully and dabbed at the offending smear with a clean makeup pad.

As her eyes burned into her mirror's reflection, a thought rose up as clear and clean as a bell chime. She would do anything to make that murdering brat suffer. Anything at all.


	2. Bellbrook

In an uncharacteristic move which had alarmed her agent into a dangerous level of blood pressure, Linda had withdrawn from all public eye events, dismissed half of her permanent household staff, and instituted an ironclad ban on any and all interviews. She pulled back into the tastefully gilt walls of her English country mansion and drew her hurt around her like a thorny blanket. Solitude, she considered as she sipped a perfectly brewed cup of jasmine tea, suited her grief well enough.

She sat alone on her back porch. She gazed out over the sweeping acres of French lavender she'd had her landscapers plant when she had purchased the property some fifteen years ago. The silvery purple flowers were just opening now, painting the gentle slope of her backyard in mid-spring pastels. The weeping willows she'd had transplanted as a border to the fields swayed like dancers in crepe mantles. Their delicate limbs chattered together in the brisk breeze. Linda found that if she closed her eyes and stilled her mind, she could almost imagine the sound as the waves of the ocean rushing up on the beach.

She leaned back into her chair and let the sound sweep over her. A gorgeously knit, undyed cashmere shawl was draped around her shoulders against the light chill in the air.

More tea steamed quietly in a bone china pot on the stone-topped table before her. A charming little milk pitcher hand painted in delicate swatches of blue glaze rested next to its bigger, rounder brother, and a small sugar dish completed the tea set. A small platter of freshly baked rosemary scones dripping in butter lay prettily on a matching plate.

Perfectly English, perfectly quaint and classical. She settled into her surroundings and for a single, still moment she felt almost at peace.

"Excuse me, Miss Williams?"

Her eyes snapped open to glare at the intruder and she yanked her shawl close to her chest as though to cover up the rare moment of vulnerability she had been caught in. Her interloper, a lean, silver-haired man in a well-tailored, charcoal suit held up one hand in surrender as he carefully set a dark leather briefcase on the table with the other.

"My apologies, Miss Williams," he said in a faint English brogue. He lowered his hand and inclined forward at the waist in a slight bow. "Your maid said I might find you out here."

She scowled at him, refusing to return his polite gesture.

"Visitors are not welcome at this time; I am not interested in reading for any new parts at the moment, I already found Jesus years ago and found him a bit boring for my tastes, and I have no interest in donating to any charitable or personal organizations. Now get off my property."

To her irritation, he did not.

"I'm not your first unwelcome guest, then," he grinned ruefully.

Linda did not smile back. Her tea was growing cold in its cup and its delicate fragrance was dissipating. Her fingers twitched under her shawl as she considered pressing the silent alarm button on the underside of her patio table that would summon her security force. The silver-haired man sighed and slipped his fingers over the back of the unoccupied chair facing Linda; to his credit, he did not pull it out and sit down.

"I'll be frank, Miss Williams, if I may. I want to help you, if you will allow me."

Her frown twitched into a sneer. "I assure you, I have neither the desire nor the need for your help." God help him if he was another Jehovah's Witness. She abruptly decided to fire her maid.

He extended a perfectly manicured hand over the table to her. She ignored it. He threw in a winning smile.

"I'm a representative of Madison and Hopper Property Law, and I would like to talk to you about your late daughter's estate. I would not have bothered you if I thought this could wait, but I fear it's a rather time-sensitive issue, Miss Williams."

Linda felt herself blanch. "My daughter was fourteen years old when she was beaten into a coma. She didn't _have_ an estate," she spat.

He raised his proffered hand in a universal gesture of surrender, although he still kept his other hand on the chair as though he expected an invitation to sit down. He finally dropped the cheesy grin, and Linda was surprised to see honest embarrassment in its place.

"You are correct, of course. The late Miss Williams didn't really have an estate – certainly nothing worth more than a hundred pounds or so – but she did have several personal effects I thought that perhaps you might like to have. Some photographs, books, and letters; mostly things of that nature."

There was a pregnant pause. Then, to her own astonishment, Linda shoved the chair he was trying to claim out from the table with her foot. The delicate metal legs screeched unpleasantly on the stone flags of her patio. She waved her hand once, sharply at the chair, indicating he should sit down.

"Why do I need _your_ help getting Sarah's effects?" She crossed her slim arms over her chest, shrugging the shawl back over her shoulders as it tried to slip down. If the interloper noticed, he graciously said nothing.

He drummed his fingers on his briefcase. "Because you are going need someone who knows every inch of property law and is willing to fight like hell to help you win, if I may be frank, Miss Williams. Now I have a lot of inside sources on the situation, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to make sure you are allowed to keep something of your daughter."

Linda had always been particularly adept at reading between the lines.

"You don't think I have a snowball's chance in hell at getting Sarah's things," she narrowed her eyes accusingly. "Why? She was _my_ daughter."

The slim man rubbed his temples with his fingertips as though warding off a headache. He didn't even pretend to smile.

"A Mr. Tobias Williams is claiming legal right to all of Sarah's property," he admitted grimly. He moved to open the gleaming brass snaps on the briefcase. "He seems to feel somewhat entitled to it," he added.

If he had reached across the table and slapped her, Linda could hardly have been more stunned.

"That murdering, selfish little prick feels _entitled_ to Sarah's things? By what right? He never even knew her!" her voice rose hysterically on the last words.

The slim man flashed her a strangely compassionate look as he opened the briefcase. He pulled out a stack of papers, shuffled through them for a moment, and seeming satisfied, handed them across the table to Linda.

She leafed through them, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. They were prints of photographs. A scrapbook she recognized – she and Sarah had giggled together like schoolgirls for hours gluing festive bits of ribbon and pretty paper in its pages. A stack of letters to her daughter postmarked from an address she hadn't lived at in over twenty years. Figurines, baubles, and a beautiful ballroom-dancer music box she had presented Sarah with on her twelfth birthday.

There were only a handful of pictures, but every one of them throbbed along the old cracks in her heart that had not healed since the night she'd gotten a tearful call from Robert back in 1986. The night her daughter's fragile, devastated body was transported unconscious to a hospital in New England, Linda's heart had shattered. Up until that moment, she had always scoffed at the notion of a broken heart.

She remembered clutching her chest, even with the phone clamped to her ear. She'd been convinced for a single moment that she was having a heart attack – surely this searing, tearing pain in her chest could only mean she was dying. Then something forced its way up her blocked throat and out her clenched teeth. A broken animal howl that reverberated off the pristine marble tile of her kitchen.

The papers shook in her hands and she took a deep breath to steady herself. The last page was an inventory list detailing the things that hadn't been photographed. Stuffed animals and books mainly. Sarah had loved to read anything she could get her hands on.

The slim man was waiting patiently, silently for her to finish. She finished perusing the list and laid the sheaf of papers gently down on the table. Her tea was stone cold, and the little china pot was cooling. She ignored both of them. She stared hard at the man sitting across from her, holding his eyes tight with her own.

"Can you get these things back from the Williams boy?" interviewers and agents alike had learned many years ago staring into those jade green eyes that Linda Williams had an uncanny knack for detecting lies.

She could sense none in the man sitting across from her as he nodded once. "I would never have darkened your doorstep if I had anything less than full confidence, Miss Williams."

She leaned back into her chair again, considering him in silence.

"How much do you need to put that bastard in his place?" she finally asked.

A roguish grin broke out over his face and he laid a finger alongside his nose, winking at her. "How about this, Miss Williams? Let me get your daughter's things back for you, and then we'll settle on what you think you owe me. Does that sound agreeable?"

She offered her hand across the table. "Don't make me regret this."

He took her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips in the lightest of kisses. "The name is Adrian Bellbrook, Miss Williams, and I swear to you that you will never regret a moment of this."


	3. Midnight Chat

It was a remarkably strange twist of irony that Sarah Williams found her afterlife to be so much more productive than her actual life had been. She had a whole new kingdom to explore under the rule of the God of Dreams – one that seemed even more limitless than the Labyrinth. Not only that, but since she had been appointed as a Guardian spirit, she had certain privileges in the realm – certain powers even. Because she had accepted the charge laid on her by the God of this realm, a veteran Guardian had explained to her, she was part of a legion of the most powerful lucid dreamers in existence.

Despite her earlier frequent protests that she was a horrible babysitter, Sarah had been appointed specifically as a Guardian to children too young to handle any but the mildest of nightmares. To her own surprise, she was actually great at it. She would sit with the child in their private dreamscape and read them stories to make them laugh, or cry happy tears, or feel braver and bigger than a lion. All the while, the seed of their fear would dwindle away for many nights – her favorite cases were the ones she never had to come back for, because she knew that the child was able to handle it all on their own.

At the moment, however, Sarah wasn't guarding anyone; she was taking a well-earned breather.

She relaxed by a still pool, deep and blue as crystal under a lavender sky. A passing thought later, her blue jeans and ivory poet's shirt unraveled into a full skirted, lacy, green peasant dress. She scooted on her butt down the grassy embankment (she loved that grass stains didn't exist unless she wanted them to!) and stretched her bare feet out over the water. Ripples spread slowly, blooming like water lilies beneath her soles.

She lay back on the grass and closed her eyes. With minimal effort, she knew she could change this to a desert scape, or plop a few mermaids in the pool, or even float up from the grass and drift along on the wind like a balloon. At the moment though, she somehow just wanted to rest in the most human way possible. Light footsteps pattered down the hill above her. She opened her eyes and smiled at the radiant child standing at her side.

"You look lovely, Sarah," he said, his voice as cheerful and light as a wind chime.

"Thank you, Lord Ra-"

"Hoggle, Sarah. I'll always be Hoggle to you," he chided her gently. He wagged a finger no longer than a baby carrot at her.

Sarah grimaced. "Sorry…Hoggle."

She tried to keep her voice warm and friendly, but the revelation that her closest friend and confidante throughout her tenure in the Labyrinth was actually a god had not exactly been the most comfortable for her. Fortunately, god or not, he was still her friend. And thus, he always seemed to know what was bothering her before she did. There was a soft pop and suddenly the old, wrinkled dwarf she'd known and loved flopped down gracelessly on the grass next to her.

"This better?" he grinned.

"A bit, yeah," she tried unsuccessfully to keep the relief out of her voice.

He elbowed her gently in the side.

"Ok, a lot better actually," she confessed.

Hoggle winked, then yawned and stretched, folding his arms under his head as they watched one star after another peek through the darkening sky. They shared a moment of companionable silence. The faint sound of laughter and good-natured chatter drifted down the hills around them; some of the other Guardians were taking a break with the civilian souls again, it seemed.

Hoggle shot Sarah a side glance. She pretended not to notice.

"Ya know, there are a lot of people here who'd like to get ta know you, Sarah," he suggested as he always did when he found her alone here. "Not just the other Guardians, either. The civilians too."

She flashed him a grateful smile. "I know, Hoggle. They all seem really lovely, they do; I swear I've seen weirder creatures _here_ than I did in the Labyrinth – not that that's a bad thing!" she added hastily, "It's actually an awesome thing! It's just…I don't think I'm up to it yet."

She turned her face back to the sky where a swollen, golden moon was cresting over the hills. A light breeze stirred strands of her ebony hair across her brow. She pretended she didn't see the concerned look Hoggle was giving her as he propped himself up on his elbow.

"You want to tell me what's really going on, Sarah?"

Sarah sighed, rolling over on her side so he couldn't see her face.

"I don't know, Hoggle. Your world is beautiful, I can use _magic_ ," she laughed weakly, "I mean that's amazing right there. The people I've talked to have all been wonderful, and I get to hang out with you whenever I want but…" she trailed off, toying with a strand of grass.

Hoggle started to reach out to touch her shoulder comfortingly, but stopped himself. She needed to say it on her own. After a moment she did.

"It's too much, Hoggle," she whispered. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. She couldn't even cry – tears wouldn't come unless she thought about them. Still, Hoggle patiently waited; there was more, he could tell.

"I'm _dead_ , Hoggle," she said it so softly that he could barely hear her.

He laid his large, wizened hand on her arm.

"Yeah, yeah ye are, Sarah," he admitted. "But it isn't all that bad, really."

She shot him a look that was not quite a glare. He met her stare easily, his expression mild until her anger melted away.

"Yer still here, Sarah. You've got a new purpose, new people to meet, new adventures to have. I'd say your life is just beginning, wouldn't you?"

She nodded impatiently. "I know you're right, Hoggle, and I'm seriously grateful you welcomed me in here and gave me so much free reign, but I still can't stop thinking about it!" She wrenched her arm away and clambered to her feet as though intending to bolt.

"Thinking about what, Sarah?" he asked softly, respectfully withdrawing his hand.

She seemed to deflate suddenly under the moonlight. Her shoulders sagged and she hung her head. Even her hair seemed to lose its shine. It hung in lank clumps around her face.

"All the things I missed; all the things I'll never do. I had just started high school – I'll never go to college, never be an artist, or a singer, or an actress! I'll never know if that's what I really wanted to do and –" her breath hitched in her throat suddenly (not that she even needed to breathe anymore) "I'll never meet someone special. I'll never get to decide if I want kids or want to get married. And I'll never fall in love."

Her voice had steadily been dropping in volume and Hoggle had to strain to hear the last three words. Hoggle climbed to his feet and took her hands in his larger ones, turning her so that she had to face him.

"Listen to me, Sarah. None of that matters anymore," he said firmly.

She stared at him silently. He pressed on.

"I can't give you back the things you missed out on," he admitted, "but you haven't lost as much as you think; yer friends with a _God,_ Sarah – I think I can teach you more than you'd learn in school. You have all the children in all the worlds to look after, and as for love…" he gestured expansively to the hills where many voices still trickled down. "There are many millions of people in my kingdom, Sarah. And you all have all the time in eternity to meet them. People fall in love after death all the time."

Sarah offered him a weak smile. She squeezed his hand but didn't say anything. Perhaps she couldn't.

Hoggle sighed. "I know this is hard, Sarah. And I know you feel cheated out of all the stuff ye should've been able to experience; I gotta admit, you are a bit of a special case. You gave up everything to make sure your brother was safe, and I admire that – I really do. And I wish I could give it all back to you, but I can't. But let me help make it better from her on out, won't you?"

She nodded imperceptibly.

" _Talk_ to me, Sarah, whenever it gets to be too much. Ask me all the questions you always wanted to know the answer to – I'm old enough to know pretty much whatever you need to. And trust me on one thing, will you?" he held her gaze with open sincerity. "Trust me that it gets better as you go on. Soon you'll be so comfortable in this new life, you'll won't miss your old one anymore."

She abruptly knelt down and gathered his small form up into a warm hug. "I trust you with everything, Hoggle," she murmured into his jacket.

He returned the hug, for a moment, then gently disentangled himself, giving her a pat on the hand. She smiled at him a little more sincerely now. He had had similar talks with more new souls than he could accurately count, but deep down, Hoggle had to admit to himself that Sarah was more than a special case – he hadn't been lying when he had called her his only friend all those years ago.

"Alright, Hoggle," she said with more conviction than she really felt.

"Do one thing for me, Sarah?" he asked as she turned to head towards the laughing voices.

"Anything." She meant that completely.

"Do try and make friends here too. Make connections, meet people, and if you meet someone who catches your interest in a special way, give them a chance," he pleaded earnestly.

She hesitated only for a bare second before nodding. "I promise, Hoggle."

He grinned at her, relieved. "Good lass. Now go on," he added as the first strains of music intermingled with the laughter. "Sounds like they're just setting up a party over there. Go on and mingle a bit."

She obediently turned and drifted up the hill. Hoggle wondered for a moment if she even realized she was doing it literally. He shook his head. He had no doubt that Sarah would be seamlessly accepted into his kingdom – she was incredibly warm and fun and easy to love, and yet as he watched her diminish into a pale green dot up in the hills, he could not shake a sudden sense of foreboding.

Something dark was coming, he thought suddenly. He cast his awareness over every inch of his realm. There was nothing darker than the nightmares that sprang up naturally in his realm. All his people were accounted for, and the borders of his land stood absolute.

He shook his head and cast off the old dwarf form. Maybe he needed a break, too. As he plinked over to join the party himself, he missed the thread of magic squirming beneath his land. A dark tendril that shied from the borders of his land as someone unsuccessfully tried to spy on Sarah.


	4. Bellbrook's offer

Linda shoved her plate away, gritting her teeth as the porcelain scraped against the mosaic stone table top. Her perfectly layered _mille crêpe_ glistened innocently in the midday sun under a delicate glaze of peach liquor. A dollop of fresh _crème fraiche_ as white as mountain snow crested the thin pancakes; it was Linda's favorite indulgence, as her chef well knew, but today she could barely manage a few small nibbles of it.

It had been three weeks since Bellbrook had weaseled his way into her private estate. Since their last encounter, despite his flowery promises to keep her in the loop as they worked to sue Tobias Williams for every scrap of Sarah's belongings, Linda had not received so much as a scripted email assuring her that the law firm was doing its best to help her. She glared at her crepes and took a sip of tea, some expensive floral brew which she barely tasted.

She had done a little home sleuthing immediately following his visit, of course. Madison and Hopper was at least a legitimate firm, she found, although all calls she had attempted had either ended with her leaving increasingly frustrated messages with a smug Irish secretary, or swearing at a monotone answering machine.

On her lap she held a copy of the inventory list that Bellbrook had given her on his first visit. She had thumbed the corners to grubby tatters. They had pored over that list together for nearly an hour marking items as high or low priority. Bellbrook had marked each item in order of importance to her on a list of his own; he had been so quick and thorough that despite her initial reservations, Linda had found herself warming up to him. And if she had happened to notice as the afternoon wore on that he was far from unattractive, that was entirely her business.

She took another tasteless sip of tea. Where in the bloody hell was he? Almost as though in response to her thoughts, here he came, running up the stone patio steps, briefcase in hand. He flashed her an unfairly dazzling smile, his thick silver hair ruffled just enough to almost make her want to run her fingers through it. Unwillingly, the corners of her pursed lips curved up in response.

"Mr. Bellbrook, I was just considering how to go about firing you."

He laid his briefcase carefully on the unoccupied side of the table and offered her a deep bow, complete with flourishes. He gave her a look of exaggerated remorse. Dear God, was the man _teasing_ her?

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Williams," he apologized as he unsnapped the brass latches. "I'm afraid I've been operating out of the office for this particular case."

She straightened up and craned over the table to try to see in the briefcase.

"I take it by your inappropriate, unannounced presence that you have news for me then?"

He didn't flinch at her crisp tone or her cool smile. She suspended judgment on whether that intrigued or irritated her more.

"I'm afraid I don't have any good excuses for the lack of contact, Miss Williams," he said contritely.

A faint gleam flashed in his eyes, so quickly that Linda almost missed it. He removed a small package, carefully nested in layers of tissue paper and offered it to her across the table.

"I trust this will help make up for it though."

The package was surprisingly heavy for its size. Linda took it carefully, judging its fragility by the painstaking way he had gently removed it from the briefcase. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest as she stroked the paper with her fingers, trying to get a sense of the shape beneath the wrapping. It couldn't be.

She unwrapped the paper layer by layer, stilling the trembling of her hands with years of honed self-control. The lovely little music box she had given Sarah lay pristine in its wrapping. The princess in her glitzy ball gown still crowned the spinning pedestal. Linda closed her eyes and pressed her fist against her mouth as memories lapped at the back of her mind, threatening to spill out of her eyes.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and steadied herself. Not yet. Not until Robert's bastard son had paid back every penny of her grief. She opened her eyes and addressed Bellbrook directly.

"How much do you want for this?" her voice was immutable as steel, her eyes hinted as much weakness as cold stone.

"I told you before, Miss Williams," he said smoothly, "We will settle the payment when you are completely satisfied."

She tenderly laid the music box back in the tissue paper nest. She sized him up carefully, looking for any signs of weakness, of quailing. He met her gaze easily, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Generally Linda forwent English lawyers in favor of Americans, but as she considered Bellbrook, slim, confidant, and just a little bit foxy, she abruptly decided to make an exception. For now.

She tapped the list. "The stuffed bear – Lancelot. I want that next."

He shook his head ruefully, "Unfortunately, the bear is presenting a bit of a problem. More so than expected."

Her stomach twisted sourly. Her face remained impassive.

"What kind of problem?" she sharpened each word like a knife against the stone table.

"Williams is claiming – with supporting court documents from his parents that Sarah passed the bear on to him. Evidence taken at the crime scene substantiates the claim; whatever motivated her to do so, your daughter deliberately tucked the bear into the crib with him."

"Sarah treasured everything I gave her," Linda snapped. "She wouldn't just let some nasty, sticky baby drool all over it."

Bellbrook nodded seriously. "Exactly. Based on character witnesses, in this particular case, it seems that Sarah was passing on the toy to Toby." He grimaced. "I've been going over the original police files and it seems that the public fell in love with that story."

"You have thirty seconds to explain to me how that's relevant."

"The image of a battered, bloodied, loyal older sister tucking a treasured toy into the crib of her baby brother after fending off his attacker?" he shook his head. "Miss Williams, I'm afraid that Sarah became damn close to a folk hero in America for a few years after that. Everyone knows the teddy bear story. Trying to wrest that from Tobias is frankly begging for a backlash from the public."

He leveled his gaze at her and abruptly closed the case between them. Linda felt almost exposed for a fraction of a second.

"All we need is one sympathetic judge to hear him tattle on you taking that bear and I promise that no lawyer in the world will help you come within a thousand kilometers of Sarah's things."

She snaked her hand across the table and smacked it down on the briefcase. He looked startled. Good.

"Listen to me, Bellbrook." She restrained the slew of insults fighting to come out. "You promised me the full help of you and that little law firm of yours. If you break that promise now, I swear that you won't be allowed to handle so much as an overdue library fine again." Her green eyes blazed, her cheeks daubed pink with fury.

Bellbrook was impressed; even at her age, Linda Williams was a force he would pity his worst enemy in facing. He offered her his most winning smile. Her mask of fury did not slip an iota.

"Well, if it means that much to you, there are other routes that we could take, Miss Williams. However," his smile dropped and his eyes darkened. "I must advise you that these other routes are outside the realm of the strictly legal. If it somehow managed to get out that you had pursued these routes, all paperwork on your case would be disposed of and we would expect a great deal of discretion on your part regarding our involvement."

Linda sneered. "It wouldn't be the first time I had to lie about my involvement with a lawyer, Mr. Bellbrook." She smiled now, venomous as a cobra. "As long as you get me everything I want, I'll swear to god himself that you never set foot on my patio."

He caught her completely off guard by sweeping up her hand and laying a burning kiss on the sensitive skin behind her knuckles.

"Miss Williams, I wholeheartedly believe that you are going to be my favorite client of all time."

She pulled back her hand slowly, feeling her cheeks heating up with something other than anger for the first time in many years. As he continued on, strictly business now, she felt something stirring between her legs too.

Perhaps, she mused, nodding along with Bellbrook's outline of the next inventory items, she could get more than one form of satisfaction out of him before it was all said and done.

….

Eve Kelliegh had landed this cozy position through the grace of God and a friend fairly high up in the Household staffing agency. She worked plenty of hours keeping this spotless castle of the Williams lady even more spotless – with the added benefit of wiring home to her parents to brag that she worked for a proper starlet. An American movie star!

But even with the glitzy employer, and the gorgeous house, and the incredible wages, Eve still had days where she strongly reconsidered her employment. As she peeked from behind one of the damask curtains in the sitting room looking out at the patio, she decided that today was most definitely one of those days.

She was drawn out of her spying when the chef marched up and gave her a quick smack on the rump with a soup ladle. Eve jumped half a meter in the air, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Morgaine O'Malley had been trained in a French culinary institute, but had always retained her Irish temper. Particularly as the only veteran member of Miss Williams staff.

"If I've told ye once, I've told ye a thousand times," she hissed at the younger woman rubbing her bottom in pain. "Ye've been hired ta _clean_ , not ta spy on Miss Walliums," she scolded.

Eve glared at her, but nodded sullenly. "I'm sorry, but ye have to admit, it's _weird._ "

"I don't care _what_ it is, do yer job and laive Miss Walliums alone or you'll be lookin' for a new line of work by sundown."

Eve scowled and picked up her little basket of rags and window cleaner and resumed polishing the panes to a crystal shine.

"All I know is, if _I_ sat around on my porch talking to myself for hours on end, I'd be in a mental ward ages ago."


	5. Duels and Didymus

_A/N Hey guys, sorry it took so long for me to get this update out there! Things have been a little hectic with work and other writing projects, as well as the holidays. I seriously meant to update this sooner, but life had a few curve-balls to throw. But here I am, here is the next chapter, and I solemnly swear it will be no more than a week before the next chapter is posted._

 _Also to my reviewers and followers, thank you so much! You guys give me the motivation to sit down at my keyboard and fend off my ADHD for a few hours. Hope you enjoy, and happy reading!_

Sarah whipped around, her hair trailing the movement of her head like a comet's tail. She raised her thin blade up to her chest. She scanned the open courtyard.

"Come out and face me, Goblin King!" she cried dramatically.

The air sparkled with dust motes. A quiet laugh slipped past her shoulder. She whirled around again, brandishing her sword defiantly. The courtyard remained ominously empty. Well, almost empty. The crowd of goblins that clustered around the edges of the stone court " _ooh-ed_ " in excitement and a few (mostly) quiet wrestling matches broke out as a handful of the little creatures fought to get a better view.

"Come to play again, little girl?" Jareth's taunt rang low against the stone like the tolling of a great bell.

The goblins whooped and cheered as the dust motes swirled into a long, shimmering cape of dusky blue. The Goblin King loomed over his smaller challenger, a long silver blade of his own resting loosely in one hand. He smirked as Sarah took a low stance, the tip of her blade pointing towards his chest.

"Come now," he chided, wagging a gloved finger at her. "Do you really expect to take me down with that flimsy little toy?"

Sarah scowled. "Enough of the childish taunts, you tyrant. Let's end this."

The goblins huddled together, eyes wide as the two blades clashed together in a shower of silver sparks. Sarah and Jareth parried and thrusted their way around the courtyard, gracefully dancing away from one another's blows. Cheers, taunts, and jeers followed them every step of the way.

"Give it up, Sarah!" Jareth voice carried over the ringing steel. "You frittered away the entirety of your life trying to best me and you _still_ couldn't do it."

"That's. Where. You're. WRONG." Sarah panted, her hair flying with every swing of her sword.

There were shouts of protest as she knocked the king's blade to the side, then screams of horror as she ducked under his guarding arm and plunged her sword to the hilt through his belly. His sword clattered to the ground as he collapsed to his knees.

Feebly, he clutched at the gilded hilt protruding through the dark velvet of his shirt. The silence of the stunned goblins was deafening as she grabbed Jareth's chin and forced his face up to meet hers.

"You lost the moment you dragged my little brother into your Labyrinth," she hissed. His eyes widened.

She grabbed the hilt of her sword with one hand and shoved the fallen ruler away with the other. Her blade came out clean as his body thudded to the ground. The silence swelled, pregnant with anticipation. All eyes were fixed on Jareth.

When he failed to stir, low murmurs broke out amongst his diminutive subjects. One brave soldier wearing a dented tea kettle as a helmet crept out from his fellows. Sarah eyed him impassively, the tip of her sword resting against a cracked flagstone. She made no move to stop him as he hesitantly reached out and poked his fallen monarch. A thin wind picked up and ruffled the mop of royal blonde hair; there was no other movement.

In growing panic, the little soldier poked harder, then in a moment of boldness that nearly caused him to soil his own trousers, grabbed the king's shoulder and shook him. Jareth's head flopped to the side, pinning the bold goblin in cold horror; his eyes were open, unblinking and unresponsive.

Soundless as a butterfly, Sarah knelt down beside the frozen goblin.

" _My_ kingdom now," she breathed in his ear.

That broke the spell. The little soldier leaped up in the air as though he had been goosed with a red hot iron. He bolted, screaming for the courtyard gates. There was a rasping sound as Sarah lazily dragged the tip of her sword in a line across the stones in front of her. She smiled sweetly at the horrified faces now fixed on her.

"Who's next?"

The goblin city had managed to remain quiet for a record fifteen minutes as every one of the citizens in its walls clamored into the castle courtyard to watch the final standoff between their king and Sarah. This unfamiliar silence was not broken so much as pulverized when every single one of the absent goblins came bursting back out of the castle gates, most of them screaming at the top of their lungs.

Back in the courtyard, Sarah howled with laughter until she almost cried. At her knees, Jareth rolled his eyes at her before gracefully bounding back up to his feet.

"Remind me," he said straightening his mussed hair, "how in blazes you managed to talk me into that."

Sarah hiccupped on one last giggle. "Easily," she replied, wiping a tear from her eyes. "You were bored and you missed me."

"Humph." Jareth held out a gloved hand and helped her to her feet.

"You didn't deny it," she sang breezily.

"Far be it from me to deny any woman her fantasies," he teased. He waved his hand idly and both swords vanished from the courtyard.

"Wherever did you learn to duel like that?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

"From Sir Didymus mainly," she gathered up her loose hair and began working it into a long braid.

"Didymus, eh?" he snorted and shook his head. "I suppose stranger thing happened during your little tenure here."

Sarah paused in twisting the last few inches of her hair. "Come to think of it, I feel like I haven't seen Didymus in …. well, years I suppose. Does that mean he isn't one of your subjects?"

Jareth nodded. "Didymus was sent in to see if you would be a worthwhile addition to another God's court."

"The Beast Master?" Sarah shivered a little as she remembered the great, shaggy God bursting through the floor of Jareth's throne room. Gentle as he had seemed with her, she could not help but remember the cruel scars she suspected his claws had left on the body of another immortal. Jareth shook his head.

"Didymus was an outsider to his own kind even before his mortal life ended," Jareth explained. "After his death…" he trailed off.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "What is it, Jareth?" she tried to keep her irritation in check, but lately she'd found that she couldn't stomach not being told things.

He shook his head. "These are complex matters, Sarah. You must understand that your soul was not the first to be caught in a custody battle between the Gods. Nor will it be the last by any means. When Didymus died, he was met first in his afterlife not by the Beast Master, but by Maeva."

"What would Maeva want with Didymus?" Sarah demanded, oddly offended at the thought of the gallant little fox anywhere near the ruthless war Goddess with the stony black eyes.

Jareth sighed and crossed his arms. "It is a long story, and if I tell you, you must keep it to yourself; these are personal matters of the Gods," he grimaced. "And I'd have thought you'd honestly had your fill of them by now."

"In life, Didymus was a rather runty little thing; the smallest fox in his warren, as I understand it, and neither particularly fast nor strong. He scavenged more often than hunted and was marked as the weakest of his clan. One day, a hunting party happened upon his corner of the forest and - "

Jareth paused. Sarah gripped the hem of her shirt, fighting the urge to smack him. "So what happened? You can't just leave it there!"

"This…is not a pleasant story, Sarah," he confessed.

"Worse than watching myself fall to a bloody death off a wall in your Labyrinth?" she countered. To her astonishment, his face reddened slightly. He cleared his throat and continued.

"Hunters came to his corner of the forest, a pack of howling dogs at their forefront. Most of the others fled deeper into the trees, dodging down holes too small for the dogs to follow. Many still fell to the arrows of the huntsmen and the teeth of their hounds, but Didymus refused to run."

"That's Didymus," Sarah sighed remembering how he had tried to spar with Ludo, even though the gentle giant stood at least six feet taller than he did.

"He stood defiant in a clearing surrounded by four snarling dogs, waiting only for their masters' orders to kill or to fetch. At the sight of his dingy fur, matted and thin from malnourishment, the huntsmen gave the word for them to attack," Jareth continued as though she hadn't interrupted. "It…did not take very long. But when Didymus finally fell and the hunters called back their dogs, only two responded, both bloodied and limping. The other two lay dead beside the little, mangy fox. He expired with his jaws still buried in one of the hound's throats."

Sarah's mouth dropped open. "He actually _killed_ them?"

"Tore their throats out," he confirmed grimly. "The hunters killed one of the remaining dogs not long after, when it became apparent that he would never run swiftly again."

"But animals fight all the time," Sarah argued, struggling not to imagine her little friend with blood on his teeth. "Why would Maeva take an interest in him for doing what animals do anyway?"

Jareth gave her a pitying look. "You truly are a precious thing, Sarah. You still don't understand; the true animal instinct was to run until they were forced to fight. Didymus stood and _waited_ for them."

Sarah gaped at him. Didymus had wanted to fight them? She sat down on the ground. Unbidden, the face of the chivalrous, courteous little fox rose up in her mind. True, she had to admit, he had always seemed unafraid to the point of eagerness for all the battles in her journeys, but he had never once hurt anyone.

Jareth touched her knee gently, and she raised her eyes to meet his; she hadn't even heard him sit down beside her.

"Bear in mind, Sarah, your trial was just that: a trial. In a true battle Didymus would have shed much blood. As it stood, however, there was never any true danger to you or your party."

She glared at him.

"….well except for the last part, but that still qualifies as an accident."

She raised an eyebrow, unrelenting.

"I never expected you to actually jump, you silly girl!" he burst out in exasperation, uncomfortably aware that his cheeks burned in shame yet again. Sarah snorted.

She leaned in close so that their faces were mere inches apart.

"I think you were just afraid you were going to lose to the conquering heroine of yore," she teased, a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Her very pink, soft-looking lips.

 _"Ahem."_

Sarah jumped back to her feet, her face coloring with embarrassment of her own.

"Hey, Hoggle," she waved sheepishly.

The gnarled dwarf stood a few feet away, arms crossed, one foot tapping the ground. Jareth composed himself and rose to his feet with an elegant sweep of his cape.

"Hello Hogwarts," he said coldly.

Hoggle gave him a stern look. "If the conquering heroine is quite finished here, there are about six dozen children on her circuit waiting for their nightmares to be soothed."

Sarah yelped an apology to the dwarf, gave the Goblin King a quick wave, and vanished in a burst of light as she sped back to the Dream Realm. Jareth stared after her perhaps a hair longer than he should have. Hoggle pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"What are you doing, Jareth?" he asked bluntly. He rolled his shoulders and shook off the form of the old dwarf as easily as one might shed a coat.

Jareth glared at the diminutive Child-God that cast an irritating amount of light in his courtyard. "I left the way open for her, if she happened to ever miss the Labyrinth. This was her home for most of her life. Is that so wrong?"

The little child shook his head. "That isn't the point, Jareth, and you know it," he said sternly. "Sarah is a Guardian in my realm now. She has duties – responsibilities that you mustn't distract her from."

"Do you intend to keep her laboring at this new post of hers every moment of her existence then?" Jareth demanded. "I was under the impression that most of your other _Guardians_ were granted free time," he added, disdain lacing every word.

To his irritation, the little God gave him an unbearably patient look. "Of course she has free time, but I believe there are other ways she could spend it then running around your Labyrinth."

Jareth bristled. He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"And what," he hissed through clenched teeth, "is wrong with her coming back to the Labyrinth?"

"She's dead, Jareth. This part of her life is over. Now is her time to be free of the trial grounds – time for her to explore her new powers, take on the responsibilities of a Dream Guardian, and to know others in my realm. _Her_ new realm," the Child explained gently.

Jareth looked away, unable to meet the smaller God's eyes. "I won't close the doors to her," he stated finally. He couldn't bring himself to say much more. Mainly because he feared the little runt was right.

The Child sighed and reached up to take the Goblin King's hand. His hand barely fit around one of Jareth's fingers. Still, the king stubbornly refused to look him in the eye.

"I never could refuse you much of anything. Fine, keep the doors open for her if you must," the Child relented. "Just make sure she doesn't forget about her duties," he added sternly.

Jareth struggled to keep a bored expression despite the balloon that seemed to be inflating in his chest. "I shall have ensure she doesn't lose track of time then, won't I?"

The little God released his hand with a small shake of his head. He turned to the small door, just his size that had appeared behind him. He laid his hand on the latch, then stopped. He turned back to Jareth, his eyes burning into the larger God.

"Keep the doors open," he repeated slowly, "but perhaps ask yourself who her presence in the Labyrinth _really_ benefits: her or you?"

He slipped through the door back into his own realm long before the Goblin King could come back with a retort.

Hours passed. The sun slipped low behind the walls of his realm, and dusk had painted purple streaks through the windows of his castle where he paced heedless of the squealing, drunken goblins, (most quite recovered from the day's earlier excitement.) And still, Jareth could not bring himself to answer that one.


End file.
